


esta camiseta blanca que me queda de puta madre

by thesilverwitch



Series: comet observatory medley [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Mile High Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverwitch/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cristiano nets the last penalty and the stadium around them bursts into a frenzy of noise and elation, Toni has to stop for a second to breathe and think, <i>fuck yes</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	esta camiseta blanca que me queda de puta madre

When Cristiano nets the last penalty and the stadium around them bursts into a frenzy of noise and elation, Toni has to stop for a second to breathe and think, _fuck yes._

Ignorant to their cause, planet earth keeps rotating on its axis and spinning around the sun, oblivious to change, but there isn’t a single Real Madrid player who wouldn’t swear that right then and there the earth shook, time stopped, and everything outside the city limits of Milan disappeared. The inside of Toni’s chest cracks and excitement starts pouring in like bursts of confetti and glitter slipping through the ridges. His legs tremble and his bones shake. He holds in the air, preserves this last remain of calm in his lungs until he can’t stand it for any longer and pushes it all out, exhaling all the worry and stress caged inside of him and replacing it with the happiness wanting to reach in.

On the next breath, Toni starts to run, desperate to join his teammates. Laughter bubbles out of his throat, swallowed by the screams of pure joy rippling through him, meaningless swear words and broken Spanish all jumbled in one.

_This is it,_ his brain tells him.

_This is it_ , his heart shouts. It’s the culmination of months of hard work, sweat, endless moaning and bitching and Toni wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Fuck yes,” he shouts after he’s jumped onto the pile made with half of Real Madrid, right next to Gareth’s ear, making the other man laugh and jump off to hug him. 

They’ve reached the end of the road and everything is so bright.

 

—-

Here’s what being on top of the world feels like:

The world around you is made out of gigantic, looming walls of pure sound. You’re surrounded by your friends, who are all laughing and dancing as they celebrate, and every few seconds you spot a person you’ve yet to hug. There are so many emotions inside you, running through your arteries and expanding your chest, that you’re seconds away from exploding. You feel like you can do anything, that the world is your oyster and you’re the king of Mount Everest and if someone were to turn to you right now and say, “Let’s run a marathon, rob a bank and fly to Mars,” you’d readily answer, “Yes, let’s do it.”

 

—-

Toni does one interview, is his usual sarcastic self and immediately grows bored of talking to the press. Some things simply never change.

He stays on the pitch until the sweat on his body feels cold and clammy and he needs something to warm him up. He’s hugged nearly everyone and taken pictures with the cup, but he knows this is just the beginning. Inside the locker room, the celebrations are already in full swing and he only gets the chance to take three steps in before Sergio pushes a bottle into one of his hands, a twinkle in his eyes, and says, “Drink it, German. There’s no excuses tonight.”

Toni rolls his eyes but doesn’t hesitate to lift the bottle up to his lips and chug the champagne like it’s water. The smooth alcohol flows down his throat with ease until people around him start to shout, “Oooooh!” like a bunch of overexcited teenagers. Toni starts to laugh, bottle still inside his lips, and promptly chokes. 

“Can’t handle your alcohol?” someone behind him asks as they rock Toni’s friends with a couple of unhelpful back slaps.

“I’m saving myself,” Toni replies. He turns around and sees the person he’s been looking for all night.

Isco takes the bottle from him, winking before he lifts it up and drains it of its contents. “Want more?” he asks Toni after he’s done.

Toni nods and smiles. Tonight is the night of impossible dreams, of reaching for the stars and grabbing one, the heat seeping through his fingers just warm enough to be cozy. There is nothing he doesn’t want tonight.

They drink a lot and sing even more and Toni knows he’s making a damn fool out of himself the whole time since he can neither sing nor dance, not to mention he doesn’t even know half the lyrics, but of course none of that matters and isn’t that the whole point? Isco is by his side the whole time. He makes the excitement seeping inside Toni’s chest grow with his contagious laughter and the way he lights up whenever Toni reaches for him. The both of them are glowing—they must be—because there’s no way a human being can be so loud and ecstatic and _happy_ without it showing on their bodies.

All of their belongings are already in the bus or with them in the locker room. There’s no time to stop by the hotel before they board their flight to Madrid since the Milan airport closes at night and theirs is the last flight, the only reason why the airport is even open right now. This means that there’s no privacy, no opportunity for Toni to grab Isco and kiss him senseless. Sure, his teammates know, but there are cameras everywhere, all their damn phones are out and filming every second and every inch of that tiled room, so Toni drinks to have something on his lips.

By the time they enter the airplane, he’s past the point of tipsy, past the point of many things. He crashes onto the first available seat he sees and breathes in deep, feeling every inhale and exhale in his very toes. The seat next to him doesn’t remain free for long.

“You good?” Isco asks.

Toni opens his eyes. Isco’s eyes are wider than they were when he decided to eat five packets of candy by himself and had a sugar overload. His hair is a mess, wet from the shower and completely uncared for, and he looks like the most attractive human being Toni has ever seen in his life. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

“Not even when you won the Champions with Bayern? You’d been with them for years before that.”

Toni shakes his head. That night had been amazing. Bayern had been amazing. But it had never completed him. “No,” he says.

“And what about the World Cup?” Isco asks. He’s smiling, light-hearted as always.

Toni shakes his head again. “That was one of the best nights of my life,” he says.

“But?” Isco asks.

And oh, this is stupid; stupid and foolish and just downright embarrassing, but Toni is happy and drunk and he’s just won the Champions League with Real Madrid after a grueling season, half of it spent convinced that Isco was gonna leave in July.

“You weren’t there,” he says, staring at Isco right in the eye as he forms the words, not wanting them to look like a slip of his tongue.

Isco lets out a little gasp, shocked for all of three seconds before he lets out a huge, crackling laugh and lunges at Toni, leaving a wet sloppy kiss on his forehead. 

“You really are drunk,” Isco says. Toni stares at him in horror, thinking that Isco doesn’t get it, that he’s missed the point, that yes, Toni’s drunk, but he’s not _that_ drunk. And then Isco leans in again and whispers, “I think I feel the same,” and he sounds unsure enough that Toni believes every word.

“Good,” Toni replies, cursing to hell and back the fact that he can’t kiss Isco yet, won’t be able to for another couple of hours unless they’re lucky. 

Isco, reading his mind, grins and stands up. “Come on,” he says, giving Toni a hand to pull him up. “Bathroom should be free.”

Toni groans, but he doesn’t refuse Isco’s help. “People will notice. And comment. Possibly shout as well.”

“Well, fuck them. We just won _la undécima_. We deserve this.”

It’s hard to argue against such sound logic. 

They walk to the toilet one behind the other, ignoring the ruckus still going on all around them. Iscolocks the door for them, but Toni’s the one who pushes him against one of the walls and licks his mouth open like he’s been wanting to do all goddamn evening.

His head swims, inebriated with victory, that spark that refuses to go off, and keeping him grounded are Isco’s hands in Toni’s hair, yanking it the way Toni likes.

They stay in the airplane toilet until someone knocks on the door and someone with a thick french accent says. “I’ve got to piss. Come on!”

Toni nearly chokes. “Why is it always Benzema?”

“It’s his superpower,” Isco replies. He gives Toni a quick kiss before putting some space between them. “If you wet your face we can pretend you were throwing up and I was helping you.”

Toni’s left eyebrow starts scaling his forehead in an attempt to reach orbit. “What? You’ve drunk more than me!” Isco argues.

“Yes, but I’m german. So.”

Isco sighs. “Fucking stereotypes.” He splashes some water on his face and opens the door without any preamble, giving Benzema half a stare before he mumbles something about feeling sick and walking away.

Toni follows him, but not before catching sight of Benzema’s horrified expression.

Win some, lose some.

They catch some sleep after that, but only one hour before they’re landing and being shepherd out, Plaza de Cibeles waiting for them. 

Toni feels light and dazed through it all, as if he’s inside a dream. When he finally makes it home, Isco by his side, they’re both so tired they fall asleep the second they hit the mattress.

They order takeout when they wake up and eat together on the living room floor, highlights of yesterday’s match playing on loop in the television.

By the time they make it to the stadium, Toni still can’t believe it’s real. The noise returns, the happiness and the excitement and that mind blowing feeling that they’ve just accomplished something bigger than them, bigger than any person.

With butchered Spanish, Toni thanks the crowd and puts Bale in the chopping board, infinitely aware of the way Isco’s looking at him, with a huge smile on his face, like he can’t believe any of this is real either.

 

—-

Here’s what being on top of the world feels like:

You are so giddy all you can do is laugh and make a fool out of yourself and through it all he stays by your side and laughs with you.


End file.
